


On Deaf Ears

by The_Defeaning_Sound_of_Silence



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Because I'm Gay and I Say So, Eddie being deaf makes it even worse, Eddie is a Wonder Woman stan, Eddie was a chubby toddler, Eddie's a dancer, I hated my biology teacher can you tell, M/M, Mentions of Cancer, Mike is fluent in ASL, Minor Character Death, Poor Eddie just wants to do his fucking biology labs, Richie is not great with communication, Richie is struggling with feelings, Richie's parents aren't necessarily abusive but they're fairly indifferent, Sad with a Happy Ending, This deviates so much from where I wanted it to go, deaf!eddie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-03-03 06:46:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13335687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Defeaning_Sound_of_Silence/pseuds/The_Defeaning_Sound_of_Silence
Summary: Eddie Kaspbrak can no longer hear. That doesn't bother Richie Tozier one bit.





	1. Richie and Eddie Work on Biology

 Richie Tozier knew a lot of things. He knew his times tables up to twelve, he knew the difference between states of matter, he even knew how to divide fractions! One of the things he didn’t know, however, was that students could transfer in between schools in the middle of the year.

 He had only ever been close friends with one person, and that person was Stanley Uris. Stanley had a cool book about birds, and his dad would take them to the park to scout out all different types of them.

 He was in fourth grade when Eddie first showed up, a short and fairly pretty boy, who was wearing a pastel blue polo and khaki shorts when Richie first saw him. Their all-too-tall teacher stalked to the front of the room, with the boy following her like a lost puppy.

 “Class, welcome your new classmate, he moved from Baltimore. His name is Edward Kaspbrak.” He was smiling happily in the general direction of the cluster of desks in the middle of the room, but he didn’t speak. Instead, he pulled out a notebook from behind his back and flipped through the pages, marking one with his thumb and holding it up to the class.

 Richie had to adjust his glasses and squint, but in the end he could just about make out a few words written in black sharpie.

_ Hello! My name is Eddie! I’m nine years old, I love pokémon, my favorite superhero is Wonder Woman, I like to read, and-  _ He flipped the page after a short while, when most of them were finished reading.  _ I am deaf.  _

 Richie furrowed his eyebrows. He’d heard that word before, but he wasn’t sure where, and he wasn’t exactly sure what it meant.

_ You can use this notebook to talk to me. I also know some sign language if any of you are willing to learn, but I can’t read lips very well. I am excited to be a part of your class! _

 “Hi Eddie!” Richie called out eagerly, waving his arms back and forth, effectively drawing attention to both himself and Stan. Stan hated attention for the most part, and always figured it better to blend in with the crowd, so he nudged him sharply in the ribs with his elbow. Richie noticed that Eddie didn’t verbally reply, but instead waved back very excitedly, and then found an empty desk two rows ahead of him.

 That was mostly the extent of contact he’d had with the kid, until seventh grade, of course. Eddie was partners with him in their biology lab, where the project was to construct a battery from a lemon.

 Richie loved hands-on projects, and was always excited to work with new people, though he did vaguely remember hearing the last name Kaspbrak from fourth grade.

 “Hey, I’m Richie!” Richie stuck his hand out, pushing his glasses up with the other, a toothy grin on his lips. Eddie shook his hand firmly, but again, didn’t respond and instead pointed to a notebook, where there was a legible old conversation that Richie’s eyes glazed over.

_ You have any other classes? _

_   Just a biology lab and social studies class. _

_  Oh, what teacher do you have for biology again? _

_  Mr. Franco. _

_  He’s nice. _

_  Yeah, I guess. He doesn’t really make things easy for me. _

_  How so? _

_  He talks a mile a minute, can’t see a single thing he says. _

_  Oh I see. Hope that gets better. _

_  Doubt it will, but thanks, Ben. _

 Beneath that, there was another sentence scrawled in the same neat, loopy writing. Richie couldn’t help but notice the boy dotted his I’s with little stars.

_ My name is Eddie! I’m your biology partner. You’ll have to write things down for me, as I am deaf and therefore unable to hear you. _ Richie cleared his throat.

 “Uh, damn. That sucks, man.” He wasn’t entirely sure what else to say. He pursed his lips tightly, clearing his throat and fishing for a pen in his pocket.

_ My name’s Richie. Can we go to your house after school? _

 His handwriting was messy, especially so since he was writing with one hand, his other holding the notebook steady in the air. At Eddie’s puzzled expression, he quickly added on.  _ For the project. _

 Eddie’s expression lightened and he nodded quickly. He flipped to the next blank page and wrote down his address, with his phone number listed next to it.

_ In case something happens and you need to contact me _ . He’d written with a smile, waving him off as he started towards his next class. Richie waved him away as well, shoving the notebook in the back of his locker and trotting off to his Algebra class.

 When he got home, he barely had any time to finish eating a snack before the wall on his phone was ringing. His mother was quicker to pick it up than he was, making him tense. If it was Stan, he was guaranteed to be polite, but if it was Beverly or her father, then he figured there may be a problem.

 “Yes, this is she,” He heard his mother say as he stood anxiously beside her.

 “I’m not sure, he didn’t say anything about that,” She continued. It was difficult for Richie to piece together a one-sided conversation, and he had no idea who it could be.

 “Who is it?” He questioned innocently, but she pushed him away.

 “Maybe, I don’t know. I don’t sift through his belongings every day.”

 “Mom, who is it?” Richie pressed, a little louder. Maggie scoffed and rolled her eyes, pushing him back with her hand.

 “Most definitely, I’ll send him right over.”

 “Mom!” He yelled, accidentally a little too loud.

 “Richard Michael Tozier, I am on the phone. Go up to your room and get whatever you need for this ‘biology lab,’ and then meet me in the car. I don’t want to hear another word, or you’ll be staying in the house and working on chores all weekend. No arcade, no friends, nothing.” That had almost immediately put Richie in a bitter mood. He hated when his mom spoke down to him; he’d barely even done anything. 

 “Fine… bitch,” He added under his breath, so quiet he knew she couldn’t hear him. As he walked back up the stairs, he heard his mother continue.

 “My son is a nice boy, really. But he’s a handful, he exasperates me sometimes. I think all boys are like that at one time or another, I almost wish I’d had a girl instead.” Richie sighed. Not the ‘if only you were a well-mannered girl,’ conversation again. He especially hated when his mom blamed him for things he couldn’t control.

 He ran up the stairs and pulled out the notebook that Eddie had given him, it was white with grey silvery writing on the front, spelling out, “Eddie Kaspbrak,” in cursive writing. He could still hear his mom talking on the phone downstairs, and figured that maybe looking wouldn’t hurt. He gathered his biology book and lab notebook and threw them on the bed, bouncing back onto it and flipping to the first page.

_ Welcome back, Eddie! Did you have a good summer? _

 ‘Welcome back,’? It was the middle of April, did the kid really have so little communication that he hadn’t even used up a notebook’s worth of paper in eight months? Even worse, he recognized the writing style from the conversation he read earlier. Some guy named Ben, he recalled.

_ Yeah, I guess. I met a guy named Mike Hanlon? He’s fluent in ASL. I like talking to him, but he lives on a farm and I have allergies. Sometimes he comes to the library, though. _

_ Oh! I think I know who you’re talking about, he’s always reading history books and helping the librarians archive files? _

_  Dunno, sounds like something he would do I guess. He’s really cool and funny. _

_  That’s great, Eddie! I’m so happy for you! Do anything else? _

_  I babysat for this kid, Georgie Denbrough. He has a brother in our grade, I think. Seems pretty cool, but I don’t really know him. What about you? Did you do anything fun? _

_  Not much haha, mostly just read more poetry books and hung out with my family. _

_  You’re a nerd. _

_  I’m your best friend- _

__ “Richard!” Richie jumped nearly a mile, dropping the notebook to the ground, “Are you ready to go?”

 He nodded quickly and picked up his books, stampeding down the stairs and out the front door, despite his mother’s protests for him to wear a jacket in the cool April weather.

 He got in the passengers side of his mother’s Volvo. She followed him shortly after with a sweater wrapped around her body, pressing her lips in a tight line as she pulled out of the driveway.

 After five minutes and some change, they arrived at the Kaspbrak household. It was nice, the grass in the yard was freshly cut and the driveway was clean from all grass, there were two lone, wilting petunias planted on the pathway leading up to the front door, and from the looks of things, it was a quaint two story townhouse.

 His mother waved him away quickly, and he all but tripped out of the car. He adjusted his backpack on his shoulder, stomping up to the house. He rapped his fist twice against the door, and heard shuffling on the inside. 

 Soon enough, the door was unlocked and a lady opened the door. The first thing Richie noticed was that she was  _ big.  _ Her build was stocky and fat, cellulite hanging from her arms, legs, and stomach. She was wearing a floral dress, a dark grey color with little muted blue designs on it, and her feet were bare. Resting on top of her nose were thin, clear, wire glasses, making her beady eyes appear even smaller and more rat-like. Her nose was pointed and her skin was blemished, hair stuck up in a badly done perm.

 “You must be Richard,” She mused, her voice low pitched and gravelly.  _ ‘Must be a smoker,’ _ Richie thought absently.

 “Uh, yeah. Is Eddie here?” Richie stood on his tiptoes, trying to look behind her. His attempts proved futile, as she was as big as a brick wall.

 “He’s in his bedroom. Wash your hands before going in. He has a poor immune system.” Richie nodded, walking into their house, awestruck. On the outside, nothing much was different than the other houses in the neighborhood. But on the inside? There was clutter everywhere. Antiques, Richie guessed. Clocks, vases, paper, coasters, and other trinkets were scattered around the front hallway, and to the left, in the family room, there was an equal amount of useless junk placed about.

 Richie did as he was told, washing his hands off, and then headed down the hallway. He found Eddie’s room by a sign taped on the door.

_ Eddie’s Room _ .

 It was surrounded by drawings, pretty ones, Richie noted. Playing cards, hearts, stars, flowers, what looked to be a bike, clouds, and a can of Coke. He was quite the artist.

 Without knocking, Richie threw open the door to see him at his desk. He had headphones and a Walkman on, and faint music could be heard through them. He seemed to be drawing, but Richie couldn’t quite tell.

 He cautiously approached him, reaching his arm out to tap him on the shoulder. The smaller boy clearly hadn’t been expecting him, and he nearly jumped six feet high.

 Richie fished for his notebook, scribbling a message to him.

_ If you can’t hear, why the music? _ Eddie furrowed his eyebrows, as though preparing a response behind his light brown eyes. He took Richie’s pen and responded in his own handwriting.

_ I can still feel the beats. Cyndi Lauper has a particularly distinctive style. As does Bowie and Billy Joel. _ Richie nodded, though it didn’t really make sense to him. The fact that he listened to Cyndi Lauper made him chuckle a little under his breath, as his eyes fell on Eddie’s notebook. It was not, in fact, a drawing, instead looking much more like a professional blueprint sheet.

 Richie nodded his head towards the open notebook.  _ What’s that? _

_ Oh, I like to mess around with bikes and mechanics in my spare time. My friend Bill’s bike, Silver, just recently got her chain snapped. If he can provide a new chain, I can install it. It’s one of my favorite things to do. _

_ ‘Jesus, kid. I don’t need your whole life story,’ _ Richie thought, but he didn’t say anything, as the kid probably didn’t get much chance to do anything else.

 He opened his backpack, tossing the lemon he’d brought into the air and attempting to catch it, though it bounced onto his floor and rolled under the bed. He cursed under his breath and bent down to get it, when he saw a black shoebox that caught his eye almost immediately.

 He retrieved the lemon quickly, and looked to see Eddie distracted with putting his things away to clean his desk. Without thinking-- as most of his decisions were made-- he shoved the box into his backpack and zipped it up.

 Almost an hour later, working in awkward complete silence aside from the occasional few words on the notebook, they’d successfully constructed a lemon battery.

 Richie’s mom came to pick him up, negating to ask about his time or experience and instead just driving home in complete silence. As he migrated to his room for the night, he’d almost completely forgot about the box in his backpack. That was, until his father had come home to make sure he had finished everything-- washed the dishes, cleaned the dirty windows in his office, taken out the trash, vacuumed the carpeting, and finished his homework.

 That was when he realized he’d forgotten to do his homework. As he opened his backpack, he pulled out the box and sat curiously on his bed, removing the lid carelessly.

 Inside was a picture. It was colorless and grainy, terribly old, no doubt. In the picture was a man, a woman, and a baby in between them. They looked to be at a hospital.

_ Sonia Kaspbrak, Frank Kaspbrak, Edward Kaspbrak - 1976, Saint John’s Memorial Hospital, Queens, NY _

 The caption on the bottom read. It wasn’t Eddie’s handwriting either. Possibly his mother’s. He stared at the picture for a few more moments. His mother was pretty, her hair was much longer and naturally curly, her eyes sparkling with happiness as she held her son in her arms. His father was handsome too, and reminded him more of Eddie than his mother did. He had a short mustache and perfectly coiffed hair, he wasn’t necessarily tall, but he wasn’t short either. He looked fairly average.

 He flipped over the picture to reveal a message, most likely written by Eddie himself, though he was probably younger, because the writing was messier and less loopy than he’d grown used to.

_ This was the day I was born. They were at church, and Ma’s water broke. Dad always called me the ‘miracle baby,’ because it was during the middle of the sermon that he and Ma had to rush out to the car. I was born at 9:53 A.M., Sunday, July 7th, 1976. The first thing Dad did when I was born was sing me a song to calm my crying. ‘The Joker,’ by the Steve Miller Band. I wasn’t always deaf, but I can’t remember what it sounded like with lyrics and all. I can still imagine, though. - E.K. _

__ Richie gently placed that picture next to him, retrieving the one below it. It didn’t seem much newer, and he looked it over carefully. It was Eddie, next to a cat with a Santa hat on. The kid himself was wearing an ugly Christmas sweater, laying on his stomach in front of a Christmas tree with several gifts beside him. He was smiling around his pacifier, clearly giddy with glee.

_ Edward Kaspbrak - 1976, Queens, NY _

_ My first Christmas was one that I can’t really remember. We had a cat named Muffin who lived in our apartment, and I remember loving her like a sibling. I can’t even remember what I got that year, probably things a baby would like. My Dad was absent that Christmas. I didn’t know why until later. - E.K. _

 The next photo came with something else that caught his eye. Richie picked up the next picture much more gently, careful not to bend it. It was Eddie again, no surprise, but he was dressed as a superhero, with a little cape on his back and everything. His Dad was kneeling next to him, grinning ear to ear.

_ Edward Kaspbrak, Frank Kaspbrak - 1978, Queens, NY _

_ Yeah, I remember playing superhero. Dad would always play the villain, and I would pretend to stab him as he’d “die” dramatically on the floor. Sometimes when he’d pretend to die, I’d start bawling. I thought he was actually dead, my two-year-old mind couldn’t comprehend the complexity of playing pretend, even though that’s exactly what I was doing. - E.K. _

 Below that one came the next photo. It was a picture, presumably of Eddie, though a little bit older. Next to that was a small, clear, plastic bag with some sort of small artifact in it.

_ Eddie Kaspbrak - 1979, Queens, NY _

 He was holding the sides of his mouth to reveal a gap on the bottom row of his teeth. He was smiling as wide as ever, and Richie hoped there would be a message on the other side of that picture, just as there was the last. Unsurprisingly, there was.

_ I lost my first tooth when I was three years old. I think I fell down the stairs and knocked it out, because I remember Ma worrying all day, but Dad kept her grounded and assured me that he was proud of me for losing my first tooth. He told me stories of the tooth fairy all day, about when he lost his first tooth as a kid and the tooth fairy visited him. I tried to stay up all night-- I really wanted to meet a real fairy-- but I ended up falling asleep early. - E.K. _

 Richie realized that the artifact in the bag was probably his missing tooth.  _ ‘Sick,’ _ Richie thought, as he pulled out the next photograph. Aside it was a little baseball.

 In the picture, Eddie’s Dad was holding him up on his shoulder proudly, as he showcased a baseball in his glove, fitting his tiny hand.

_ Eddie Kaspbrak, Frank Kaspbrak - 1980, Queens, NY _

_I played my first baseball game with Dad, and even though I realized that I hated baseball and cried for about an hour, he still let me win. He told me I didn’t have to play if I didn’t want to, that I shouldn’t do things that other boys do just because other boys do it. I actually ended up taking a liking to ballet. Ma wasn’t a huge fan, but Dad went to all my recitals._ _\- E.K._

 Eddie was a dancer? Richie never would have guessed. Though he did seem delicate and graceful, ballet? What an odd thing for a boy to be into.

 He  _ was  _ a dancer, judging by the next photo. Eddie was, again, with his dad, in a leotard and tights, smiling widely as ever. He had ballet shoes on, and was standing on his tiptoes to be shoulder-to-shoulder with his kneeling father.

_ Eddie Kaspbrak - 1980, Sarah’s Dance Academy, Queens, NY _

_  Haha, I remember this one. I was the only boy in a class full of girls, but I didn’t care one bit. If anything, I think it made me try harder. Dad was so supportive, he always encouraged me and sometimes he would dance with me so we would put on little shows for Ma. I think she liked them. - E.K. _

 The next picture he pulled out was one of the cutest he could find. They were in the middle of the street in Disney World, where Eddie-- complete with Mickey Mouse ears-- was being held by Donald Duck. He was smiling as bright as ever, and hugging the character tightly with his short arms. Richie noted how chubby Eddie was as a child. It was cute.

_ Eddie Kaspbrak - 1980, Walt Disney World, Orlando, FL _

_  Dad had orchestrated a whole trip to Disney World, and surprisingly enough (at the time) Ma didn’t stop him. Usually she was the reasonable one, but for a reason I couldn’t comprehend but just kinda went with at the time, she allowed Dad and I to travel to Disney World for the weekend. I remember Dad making a big deal out of everything, making sure I had a good time and spending most of it with me. And Ma let him, which was weird considering how much time she liked to spend with me. - E.K. _

 The next picture he pulled out was much more grim. Richie almost felt rude, intruding in on Eddie’s private memories, his sincere and vulnerable moments. It was a picture of Eddie with faint tear tracks visible on his cheeks-- it was the only one of the pictures in color-- as he laid down on a hospital bed, curled tightly into his father’s side. He had his thumb in his mouth with his hair all messed up and his clothes resembling that of someone who had simply thrown on anything they could find in a hurry. His father looked much different than the previous pictures. His head was shaved, with white gauze wrapped around it and IV’s in his arms and chest. He still had his mustache, and his son, but his smile was so much weaker.

_ Eddie Kaspbrak, Frank Kaspbrak - 1981, Saint John’s Memorial Hospital, Queens, NY _

_ Oh. This one. The day Dad left me. Left  _ **_us._ ** _ I didn’t understand. I don’t think I ever will. One day everything’s fine, the next your Daddy faints in your kitchen while you play superhero. At first you think he’s just playing-- you’re sure. But then your Ma comes running into the room and calls an ambulance on the phone. You don’t understand… you just don’t understand. You keep crying and crying and crying… waiting for someone to tend to you, just like they always used to. But nobody does. You get to see him one last time, but you cry yourself to sleep. The next thing you know, you’re in your aunt’s car, going to spend the night at her house. And the last thing he ever says? _

_  “It’s gonna be okay, Eds. Daddy’s gonna be fine.” _

_  And the next thing you know, your aunt wakes you up crying. He wasn’t okay. He was stolen by the real villain, the one that always felt so abstract and far off you never really accounted for it. Cancer. _

 There was no signature on that one. But it was Eddie’s, no doubt. Just like the rest of them were. He feels like shit, like he needs to put it all away and return the box with a sincere apology. But he can’t. He has to look at the remaining two pictures.

 It’s a funeral, but it was covered in snow. If not for everyone dressed in black and crying, he never would have guessed. There was a hole in the ground, but the casket wasn’t visible.

_ Frank Kaspbrak’s Burial - 1981, Bangor, ME _

_  This was the worst day of my life. Nobody would talk to me, we drove six hours in a stuffy car next to my aunts cars a hearse. I asked to play the music, but Ma refused. I asked to stop for lunch, but Ma refused. We had to leave at four in the morning, so naturally I was tired and fussy-- I was four years old, confused and grieving. I was told to keep quiet all day, and had to get changed into perhaps the most uncomfortable tuxedo ever. Bad day. Bad, bad day. - E.K. _

 There was one final picture hidden in the very bottom of the box. Richie picked it up hesitantly. It was a picture of Eddie in a hospital bed, and looking tired and worn. Richie blinked twice at it.

_ Eddie Kaspbrak - 1983, Saint John’s Memorial Hospital, Queens, NY _

_  This… this hospital must be where Satan resides. I got sick with Scarlet Fever. Luckily, I got treated before anything worse could happen, but I lost all my hearing that day. I remember screaming because I couldn’t hear anything. I screamed until my throat hurt, but still, nothing. Ma was terrified. I don’t blame her, she almost lost her husband and her son in the span of, what, three years? I feel bad for her, especially since I got so sick because of the fever. I got a host of other diseases including asthma, gout, and osteoporosis. I feel bad for her, having to take care of me. - E.K. _

 Richie quickly placed everything in as neatly as he’d taken them out, closing his eyes and counting to three. Why did he take the box? What right did he have? What was he thinking? Stupid, stupid, stupid boy. Now he needed to return Eddie’s box back to him and somehow try not to die from embarrassment when he did.


	2. Eddie Kaspbrak Makes It Physical

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MORTAL KOMBAT *DA DA DA DA DU DA DA DA DA DA DOO DU DA DA DA DA DA DA DA DA DA DANANANA* KANO! LIU KANG! RAIDEN! JOHNNY CAGE! SCORPION! SUB-ZERO! SONIA! MORTAL KOMBAT !!!!!!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the fight the fight the fight ohhh i didn't plan on writing it like this but god knows eddie loves unnecessary drama.
> 
> special thanks to mick (dramaticalfandoms on tumblr) because they helped correct my shitty grammar and writing mistakes also thanks to stephanie (beep-beep-richie-trashmouth on tumblr) on tumblr because she read it first
> 
> all i have to say is i hope you like drama cus shits getting real, and thanks for the support on the last chapter. also this is a little shorter than the first so sorry about that xxx

 Eddie had fallen asleep with a smile that night. He was sure he’d made somewhat of a new friend in Richie. He would assume so, at least, judging by all the times he broke away from their report to scribble down a joke.

 He’d traced a few of them with his fingers after Richie had left. 

_ Want to hear a joke about paper _

_  Sure. _

_  Oh nevermind, it’s tearable _

__ He had genuinely chuckled at that one. He seemed to be trying to impress him, if not the least bit. And Eddie was most certainly impressed by the sheer cheesiness of the jokes.

_ What do you call an elephant that doesn’t matter _

_  What? _

_  Irrelephant _

_  Oh god. _

__ Or the occasional knock-knock joke.

_  Knock knock _

_  Who’s there? _

_  Norma lee _

_  Norma Lee who? _

_  Normally it’s considered impolite to go knocking on random people’s doors. _

 He was definitely a comedic guy. If not vulgar, sometimes, Eddie had quickly learned.

_ What do you call a guy with a giant dick _

_  What? _

_  Me _

_  Richie no. _

 But he seemed nice enough, at least from Eddie’s perspective. And he didn’t treat him like glass to be handled carefully. And he was kind of cute. The way his glasses took up a large portion of his face, a testament to how little he could see without them. Or his unruly curls, falling just a little past his ears, usually tucked behind one of them. Even his fashion sense said a lot about him, a ghastly Hawaiian overshirt, band t-shirt underneath it, with checkerboard shorts covering his lanky legs.

 If asked, his favorite part about Richie would be the absolutely adorable way he stuck his tongue out slightly when focused or writing. His eyes would go into a squint and his tongue would peek out of the side of his chapped lips. And Eddie found it incredibly endearing.

 He wished he could hear his voice. Something, anything other than messy scribbles to remember him by.

 When he woke up, it was to his mother shaking him, signing worry about someone at the door. He nodded quickly and sighed, rushing down the stairs as she trailed behind him at a much slower pace.

 He smiled when he saw who it was, none other than Richie himself. But he looked different, he was blushing and his gaze was cast downwards, arms locked behind his back with something obscured behind it.

 He raised his eyebrows, realizing he’d forgotten to bring his notebook downstairs. Richie was saying something-- well, multiple things-- very quickly, and Eddie couldn’t make out a single word.

 He tapped his ear as if to say, “I’m deaf, remember?” and the boy sighed.

 He invited himself inside Eddie’s house and led him into the living room, sitting down with a guilty and slightly embarrassed expression. Eddie followed curiously, his lips pursed. Richie began talking again, but seemed to slowly stop himself as he remembered again that Eddie couldn’t hear him. He fished for pen and a paper from the kitchen, Eddie unaware of why he was being so secretive. It was starting to worry him, because Richie could have a million different things behind his back. He could have a gun, a bomb.

_ Before I show you what I have I want to apologize _

_  Apologize? For what? _

_  Listen it’ll all make sense in a couple seconds just please don’t commit a homicide _

_  Richie, you’re scaring me.  _

__ And then he unveiled what was behind his back. At first, it didn’t look like much. Just a black box. And then he lifted the lid off. And it hit Eddie like a truck.

 It was a funny feeling, being sad, embarrassed, offended and angry all at the same time. But it seemed to him that anger was an insufficient word to describe his emotion. He was seething, raw infuriation pooling in his stomach, lighting his nerves and bones on fire. The boy had been in his house for less than a day and was already fucking things up. He wished he could speak sensibly, but instead he followed his instincts.

 He delivered a harsh blow to Richie Tozier’s windpipe.

 Probably not the best course of action, considering his mother was right in the next room, but talking it out wasn’t necessarily a viable option.

 He watched pridefully as he caused what was practically the equivalent a human giraffe to stumble backwards, subconsciously bringing a hand up to his throat.

 He seemed to be wheezing, though Eddie couldn’t really tell whether it was choking or wheezing-- or a mixture of both-- because for the tenth fucking time that morning he had to cope with deafness on top of the turmoil he was being put through.

 He didn’t want to yell, but he did, and it probably sounded like a dying, screeching cat, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care because as long as that kid had all those memories to which he held so close and dear to him was tearing him apart.

 He had no right to take the box. He had no right to look inside. He had no right to invade Eddie’s privacy-- his past-- like that. He’d made a feeble attempt to apologize, which didn’t get him very far in Eddie’s book.

 He reached out to push the boy, but the bastard had become slightly more reactive and took both of his hands in his much bigger ones. Despite being a lanky geek, he held a surprising amount of resistance, pulling Eddie back down to the couch to sit.

 He was still upset, but less so since the initial anger had worn off. He grabbed a notebook and began to write.  
  


_ I know you’re probably mad _

__ When he wrote, he looked just as guilty as before, perhaps more so since it looked like his neck was going to bruise. His eyes were downcast, completely and totally focused on the pen and paper. And as though just to pour salt in the wound, he was doing the adorable tongue thing again.

_  No shit I’m fucking mad! _

__ To say he was mad was a massive understatement. He was fuming, seething with unadulterated rage. Or at least he was, and now he was scribbling down cusses with a pen. Oh, what his mother would do if she’d seen him.

_  Okay listen I didn’t mean to do any of this, I didn’t mean to take the box or look inside of it _

__ But he did. And that was the only thing that mattered to Eddie. Especially since he’d gone against his better judgement.

_  Then why the fuck would you!? It’s a complete invasion of privacy! Not to mention the amount of disrespect! _

 That was exactly how he felt. He felt disrespected and violated. That was his childhood, his precious memories of back when he knew what it felt like to hear. To have a father who cared about him.

_  I know, and I can’t answer why I did it. I guess I was mad at my mom, and when I get mad my ADHD gets all… I dunno, weird? And all of a sudden I get really curious and that’s what happened. I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings _

__ He couldn’t believe his eyes. Was this guy seriously trying to use ADHD as an excuse for  _ stealing?  _ If he wanted to, Eddie could call the police and press charges for the  _ crime  _ he’d committed. But he wouldn’t, because that would take up too much of his and his mother’s time and money.

 The point he was trying to make was that the boy was incredibly rude and inappropriate, and the way he acted wasn’t at all socially acceptable.

_  So your resolve was to steal from me? You literally stole one of my possessions. And it happens to be one of the most important. _

__ It was true. Eddie had made that box at eight years old, a few months before they’d even moved to Derry. It was his only way to remember his dad, and some days that was extremely difficult. He’d forget little details, like whether or not his dad had a mustache, or all the quirky and clever nicknames he had. It was extremely painful to forget.

_  I know _

__ Eddie wasn’t buying it. Just because he confessed to it didn’t mean he’d be forgiven so quickly.

_  You know? I don’t think you know anything! I think your head is either completely empty or full of bullshit! _

__ Anger was still mixing with his blood, and sure, maybe it was a little bit of an overreaction. But in Eddie’s book, it was completely warranted.

_  I said I’m sorry _

__ All two times he said sorry, yeah, that didn’t strike a chord with Eddie at all. It was like one of his mother’s astonishingly bad soap operas, where the cheating husband says he didn’t mean it and the protagonist ends up killing him or some other drastic and unneeded measure. As much as he hated Richie, he’d never actually wish harm on him.

_  Your crocodile tears don’t absolve you! I don’t care how sorry you are, that’s my fucking father! Not even my best friend knows the whole story behind him and you thought it was acceptable to forcefully steal those memories from me. _

__ It was true, he liked to keep his past purposefully vague. He wondered how Ben or Mike would react to his confession. “Hey guys, my dad died of cancer when I was five years old!”

 No, nobody would actually say that. It wasn’t like he could talk much, regardless.

_  Well my dad’s not the fucking best either but you don’t see me keeping memories of him in an old box under my bed. Who the fuck keeps their most prized possession under their bed _

__ Maybe because he didn’t have many memories with his dad. Eddie thought about that solemnly, but for merely a moment before replying.

_  Someone who thinks annoying idiots won’t go snooping under it! Are you always this nosy or is it just around me? _

__ Seriously, who did he think he was? Why did he hold himself on some do-no-evil pedestal that quite obviously didn’t exist around the rest of the world?

_  I am so done with your attitude. It was an honest mistake _

_  His _ attitude? As though he wasn’t the wronged party. As though he hadn’t just had his entire childhood invaded for the sake of this guy’s kicks. What an asshole.

_  No, an honest mistake would be tripping and falling, or dropping something onto the floor. You knew exactly what you were doing and you didn’t give a damn about anyone but yourself in that moment! _

__ Eddie thought his argument was pretty valid. It was definitely a conscious choice. He had to think for at least a second before stealing, just like he’d have to think if he lied or cheated. Anything done with ill intent was a choice by somebody. Rightly so, Eddie thought.

_  Well someone has to care about me _

__ He supposed Richie was right. A world without love and care would be an impressively bleak existence, and it definitely wasn’t one that Tozier himself lived in.

_  Leave that to your parents! You do have a face only a mother could love! _

__ Well that was a bald-faced lie. Objectively of course, Richie Tozier was absolutely beautiful, down to the freckles across his nose. Not that Eddie had tried counting them. Because he hadn’t, not once.

_  It’s extremely pretentious of you that you assume my mother loves me _

__ Eddie tried not to wince at the implication following his words, instead readying his pen for an insult of his own.

_  Well, maybe she doesn't. If I was your mother I’d teach my son not to steal things from other people’s rooms. _

__ Maybe it was a little harsh, implying that his mother didn’t love him, but Eddie had bitter energy coursing all over his body.

_  I tried to apologize but you throat-punched me before I could even say anything you fucking lunatic _

__ What was he supposed to do? Listen to his side of the story? Sure, it may have been a little out of line, but so was stealing a box of precious memories!

_  Get out of my fucking house and never come back. If I so much as see you in a hallway I’ll punch you again. _

_  No wait please _

__ Eddie paused when he did, flipping the paper over as their conversation had taken up most of the front side. He felt much less angry, but still irritated and genuinely upset at Richie’s carelessness.

_ Please just give me another chance _

_  Look you seem like a really cool guy and I don’t wanna lose you as a friend _

_  Just let me apologize _

_  Please _

__ Eddie pretended to consider it, before picking up the paper, looking Richie dead in the eye, and tearing the page to shreds. He neatly stacked the shredded paper and pointed bitterly in the direction of the door, ushering him out of his house.

 He watched as Richie-- who cast a dejected glance at the torn paper, as though it was his own heart or something equally as sappy and dumb-- slowly rose from the couch, leaving and shutting the door behind him. Eddie immediately huffed, and spent almost thirty minutes going through each bit of memorabilia in the box, and cleaning off the items that were able to be cleaned.

 He cried the whole time he did, probably more like wailing considering at one point his mother had come in and sat down on the couch, motioning for him to sit on her lap. He found it childish, considering he was almost fourteen, but he did so anyways, leaning into her warmth and allowing himself to continue crying until he felt like he had nothing left to cry about.

 He took the box back upstairs and placed it neatly in the back of his closet that time, so as never to have to repeat the situation again. He then took a shower and cried then too, but it was less crying and more empty sobbing.

 When he’d finished rubbing his skin so much it was practically raw, he sat down at his desk and continued his plans for Bill’s bike. At least it was something to do with his hands,  _ something  _ to keep him busy and distracted.

 His Walkman blasted Whitney Houston at an ear-splitting volume, loud enough that he could feel the vibrations of “I Wanna Dance with Somebody.”

 When around noon his mother had brought him lunch, but he felt too tired and drained to eat, so he set it aside and took a nap instead.

 He didn’t wake up until seven o’clock at night, and even then he’d just eaten his sandwich, brushed his teeth, put on his pajamas and went straight to bed. All in all, it was a bad day. And he was not looking forward to school on Monday, not even a little bit.

 Because at school he couldn’t sleep off his problems. And he had to present his biology lab with Richie Tozier during the last period of the day. He planned to get that over with as quickly as possible. He hoped Richie had forgotten about his outburst. He really hoped Richie had forgotten about the box. But he knew that wasn’t practical. There are some things you just can’t unsee.


	3. Wentworth Tozier Promotes Capitalism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie gets scared of feelings he most definitely does NOT have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kglfjdlfkdlfb sorry this took so long to write

 Richie felt as though maybe he’d earned his comeuppance after all. Of all the reactions, he never expected to get… well, punched in the throat. So, sitting at his kitchen table with a Ziploc bag of ice against his neck was really not how he’d intended to spend his Saturday evening.

 His mother was out “grocery shopping,” as she had been for the past few hours, leaving her clearly pained child alone at home with a quickly-forming bruise stark against his pale skin. The only reaction he’d got from her was another tirade, something like an uninterested lecture at the very least.

 “You need to stop provoking, Richard. You push and push and push and push and then you get your ass beat and you want the world to pity you. You’re lucky your glasses didn’t break this time, we don’t have infinite money to buy new ones because you and your friends keep getting beat. Can’t you just be more mature? Can’t you keep your mouth shut for more than five seconds? Why do you pace around like that? Why are you always in my face? What did I do to have a kid like  _ you?  _ Youhavenorespect. Whydon’tyoueversettledown? Ican’tbelieveyou’remyson.”

 And all her words meshed together like dull, faded, bruises on his calves. He weakly picked at a scab on his elbow. He could ask her similar questions. Why did he have to have a mother like her? Why was she always treating him as nothing more than a nuisance?

_ No. _

 He refused to mope. He refused to let one little half-drunken speech cause him any sadness at all. He jumped up from the table and walked right out the front door, negating the courtesy to lock it behind him as he began the short path to Beverly Marsh’s apartment. It was a Saturday, which meant her dad was probably busy playing golf or getting drinks with his friends. One of which was Richie’s own father.

 He shook that from his head and knocked feebly on the thin wood of her apartment door. If it were any other day, he would have climbed up the fire escape and in her window. But he doubted her dad was home anyways, so either way it didn’t matter.

 “Bevelyn! Bevster! Beverly!” Richie called as he rapped his fist against the door. Minutes later, Bev answered the door. Her bright reddish-blonde hair fell down her shoulders, leading to a dark, floral print dress. But to his surprise, she wasn’t alone.

 A kid-- no older than five or six-- was resting his head on her shoulder as she held him securely in her arms. He was wearing a beige-colored sweater and jeans, with hair the color of wet sand and tanned skin.

 From the way he hung, basically limp, against Bev, he assumed the kid was asleep. After giving her a curt salute, he nodded his head in the direction of the kid, asking a silent question. She rolled her eyes and motioned him inside, laying the child down on her sofa and walking with Richie back to her own bedroom.

 “Georgie Denbrough. His parent’s offered ten dollars an hour for four hours. It’s easy money.” She shrugged, shifting her weight to her left side. He held his hands up in mock-surrender.

 “Right, right. I’m not here for… that.” He motioned vaguely in the direction of the living room area, pulling off his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose. It was something his father had taught him very young-- tension headaches could be relieved by pressure. But he wasn’t tense. He didn’t think he was, at least. His throat hurt like a prude on an un-lubed dick, but there was nothing he could do about that. Ice had only made it cold.

 “Bev, I… I fucked up. I did something I wasn’t supposed to and I- and I guess I got what was coming.” His hand subconsciously touched the dark bruise forming on his throat. Purples, blues, and yellows were scattered around it, and his voice was a little hoarser than usual.

 He noticed Bev’s eyes spark with a darkness not unlike anger or worry. She paused, looking up through long eyelashes.

 “Was it…” She trailed off quietly. It took him a second to get it, but soon he was shaking his head vehemently in protest.

 “No! I- I mean, not this time. No. It was… it was Eddie Kaspbrak,” He admitted quietly, thrusting his glasses back upon his face. He could see the confusion of Bev’s face.

 “... The tiny deaf kid who looks like he weighs ten pounds soaking wet?”

 “Yes, Bev. He punched me in the throat, ripped up my apology and told me to leave. I don’t think you’ve truly seen insanity until you’ve looked into his eyes,” Richie sighed, sitting down on her bed, which groaned underneath his weight. She chuckled, but it could have been a scoff for how quickly it was over.

 “So… what? You want to egg his house? Key his mom's car? How far are you willing to go, Trashmouth? I mean you know I’m just dying to toilet paper a front la-”

 “I want to apologize.” Richie’s words hung in the air, like a weight had just fallen from the sky. It was completely unlike Richie to apologize for anything, most of the time his resolve was simply to ignore the problem.

 “Apologize?” She looked to hesitantly confirm after a short bout of silence between them. He nodded and looked down at her wooden floor as though it held all of the world’s secrets.

 “Okay… why?” It seemed like the more she learned about the situation, the less she knew. Richie shrugged, because just like her, he knew very little about the situation. If he were even slightly more arrogant, he could have blamed it on being a people-pleaser, or feeling sorry for the kid. But the answer to his question was so far off he thought he’d never find it.

 “I dunno. I just do,” He replied lamely, adjusting his glasses as he laid back against her bed. With that, she left the room, and he got up to follow her like a lost puppy. After assuring that Georgie was asleep, she fished for a pack of Marlboros in the upper cabinet of her kitchen, and motioned him back to her room. Once there, she found a lighter and tossed him the pack, flashing the one that she already had, and climbed out her window and onto the fire escape. He followed clumsily and wordlessly, lighting his cigarette and inhaling the hot nicotine.

 He was by no means perfect at smoking, he coughed when he inhaled too sharply and his lungs burned as he exhaled, but he enjoyed the taste and the fact that he had something to do with his jittery hands.

 After a few drags, Bev closed her eyes and hummed softly, shrugging.

 “You want forgiveness that bad, huh?” She opened one eye and looked over at him. He shrugged dumbly and took another drag.

 “Yeah, okay. You’ll have to do something big for him. I mean, you clearly did something bad. Just look at the size of that thing,” She motioned to his bruise, “I’d say find a way to apologize. Something he can understand.”

 “Hey, what about sign language? Homeschool’s fluent, isn’t he?”

 “You could sign up for classes or something. That might just work, Tozier.” At that, Richie heaved a sigh. Classes costed money, and money was not something Richie could afford to spare.

 They smoked for a long while after that, until Richie burned his fingers on the butt of his own cigarette, and then left begrudgingly.

 His house was quiet, as usual. He saw that his mother had come home and was napping on the couch, but his father had apparently decided to stay out later than usual. He supposed dinner alone was better than dinner with a drunk father.

 He let his body drop into one of the chairs at the kitchen table, internally cursing for hitting it so hard and groaning out loud. His head was resting miserably on the table, glasses pressing uncomfortably into his face. But then he heard the sound of a car engine in the driveway. And then the front door opened.

 He practically jumped ten feet running through the family room to greet his father, arms wrapping around his middle tightly. When his father didn’t hug back-- or do anything more than pat him twice on the head and then pry him away-- Richie’s heart dropped. So tonight wasn’t going to be a good night.

 With little chatter around the house, and his father waking his mother up to cook for them, Richie waited not-so-patiently for a chance to talk to his father about sign language classes.

 When they’d finally sat down for an intricate dinner of microwavable mac-and-cheese, he decided to speak up.

 “Hey Wentworth?”

 “Yes, Richard?” Richie sighed. He hadn’t even looked up from his food.

 “Could I- I mean are there any chores I could do around here? For money?” He asked, a little warily. Sometimes Went got angry that he was fishing for money, and other times he just laughed it off.

 “Looking to see another movie? I hear the-- what, seventh?--  _ Friday the 13th _ movie just came out.” His father laughed, and Richie did too, though a little unnerved. His eyes flicked between his parents as he forked through his food. “Alright, I think the grass needs to be mowed, and maybe you’ll be paid extra if you alphabetize the books in my study.”

 Richie’s eyes lit up, and he had the urge to reach across the table and hug his father. However, he repressed that urge as he knew he’d probably only get himself into more trouble should he initiate any physical contact. It wasn’t that his dad was  _ bad  _ with it or anything, and Richie knew he wouldn’t do anything to hurt him, but he also knew that his dad was just as clueless as he was and would probably not reciprocate. That wasn’t exactly something Richie wanted to deal with.

 “No fake?” He inquired, as though to make sure his dad wasn’t pulling his leg. If there was one thing he and his son shared, it was jokes. They also had similar eyes, but that was besides the point.

 “No fake, kiddo.” With that conformation, Richie wondered if it was even worth asking his parents for sign language lessons. He could technically just buy them from behind his parent’s back, but to him that felt like an unfair cheat.

 “So I can buy whatever I want with the money I earn?”

 “Within reason,” Maggie quickly corrected, giving him a look that let him know she had in fact smelled the smoke on his breath and just chosen not to say anything.

 “Would… sign language classes be ‘within reason,’?” Richie questioned, a little hesitant. He watched with bated breath as his parents exchanged a look of confusion, and his father turned to him.

 “If you earn the money, you can buy whatever the hell you want. Only if you earn it, though. Maybe next weekend we’ll see about yard work, yeah? Could earn you two dollars, maybe more.” Richie nodded quickly, exhaling loudly from his mouth.

 “Y- yeah, sure Went. I can do that.”

 And so Richie waited anxiously for the next weekend, each day seeming longer than the last. He had the dreaded Biology presentation on Monday, but he decided it wasn’t all bad in the long run.

 He did all of the talking, and Eddie glared viciously the whole time. He mixed jokes into his speech, and by the murderous look in his eye, the shorter of the two could definitely tell and was  _ definitely  _ not pleased. Neither of them communicated with each other, which lead to a clunky demonstration, but either way he was able to explain it to their friends using Eddie’s deafness as a general cause.

 It was awkward, sure, and their hands brushed a few times, but it wasn’t a trainwreck. He got a few laughs and even a little bit of applause, and although the teacher never verbally spoke their grade, he had a feeling it wasn’t all bad.

 After school on Monday, he’d biked all the way down to Mike’s farm on the outskirts of Derry. Mike was the only black boy in town, and sometimes he hung out with Richie’s very own band of outcasts. The “slut,” the Jew, and the annoying one. Mike’s presence was a sort of in-between being, halfway to being friends and yet not as close as he was with Bev or Stan.

 That being said, he couldn’t help but wonder if it was manipulative of him to ask Homeschool for sign language lessons. It couldn't be manipulative if he was paying with his own money, right? Of course it was right.

 He biked all the way up the dirt path, the shiny, red, metal starkly contrasting with his ripped and dirty jeans. For something which he rode to school and back everyday, it was in surprisingly good shape.

 “Hey, Homeschool!” Richie called, noting Mike carrying what looked to be a large pair of scissors. Mike waved as Richie dug his heels in the ground to stop himself from crashing, and let his bike fall. Something else had his interest, and his bike was not that thing.

 “Trashmouth,” Mike regarded him with a tip of the large, floppy, white sun hat he was wearing. Richie smiled from ear-to-ear, briefly forgetting what he was going to ask in favor of simply admiring the boy. There was no denying he was good-looking, strong, lean, and while he had to have been dying of heat exhaustion-- he was sweating like there was no tomorrow, the entire front of yellow shirt soaked with sweat-- he kept an upbeat smile on his face. Richie thought that, objectively, Mike Hanlon was attractive. But that didn’t mean he wanted anything more than to look. Sometimes looking was better than actually receiving.

 And then he snapped out of it, remembering that Mike was no piece of meat, and also that he had giant scissors.

 “What the hell are those things, Homeschool? Use ‘em to cut your pubes?” He regarded them with a hand gesture, smiling good-naturedly. Mike rolled his eyes, shoving the shorter boy’s shoulder.

 “They’re shears, twerp. We use them to cut the sheep’s wool, which we then sell for profit. That’s how running a business works.” Mike’s words held no real malice, and Richie could tell he wasn’t trying to dumb anything down. It was just the easier way of explaining things.

 “Right, yeah. Could your ‘business,’ use a little extra cash?” At that, the dark-skinned boy’s interest was piqued. He raised a questioning eyebrow.

 “I’m listening…”

 “You’re fluent in sign language?” Richie gesticulated his hands wildly, as if to show what he meant. Mike shrugged, nodding his head silently, and began to walk off. Richie ran to catch up with him.

 “Hey- wait! I want lessons. I’ll pay you.”

 “No thanks, keep your money.” It struck an odd chord with Richie. Why was he suddenly being so secretive, so closed off? It wasn’t like he’d asked him to kill the president. If he were going to do that, he wouldn’t be speaking out in the open.

 “Wait- dude, please. There’s this kid who goes to the school. Name’s Eddie Kaspbrak, ‘bout yeigh high, skinny, deaf…?” Richie paused, as if waiting for an answer of a question he hadn’t been asking. Mike relaxed his shoulders, stopping to turn around and face him. He looked tired and worn, shoulders dropping and jaw clenched.

 “Yeah, I know him,” He sighed, pressing his lips together. “Sweet kid, helped fix up the engine of my dad’s tractor. What’s your business with him, Tozier?”

 “Look, I did something I shouldn’t have and he couldn’t- he didn’t know how sorry I was, because I was only able to write down words. But I figured if I-- fuck, I dunno-- if I learned his language, maybe he would forgive me…? Is that stupid?” Richie was still trying to figure out his own motivation. There was something about the boy that suggested crossing him was wrong. Maybe because he felt bad for him, maybe because of… something else. He couldn’t tell fact from fiction when it came to that kid.

 “It’s not, but… I haven’t signed in a while. I don’t know how good a teacher I’ll be. We really only used it for my grandma, and she- she’s no longer with us. I admire you wanting to apologize. Didn’t figure you for the type. I’ll make you a deal. A dollar a session, twice a week. Maybe it’ll help me too.” He didn’t sound very hopeful, but for only a dollar a week? Richie was more than willing to pay up. He nodded quickly, shaking his hand to seal the deal.

 “Thank you so much, Mikey. See you next Wednesday!” He called, after realizing they hadn’t set up a date or time. He was already on his bike, though, pedaling away towards his own house. His heart was beating a million miles a minute with happiness, a wide smile spread across his face as the wind whipped through his unruly curls.

 The week dragged on slowly, each day seeming longer than the last. But finally it was Saturday, and Richie had woken up early to mow the lawn. It was difficult work considering their front yard was huge, the back yard even bigger, but he was willing to do it. While walking back and forth, thoughts of Eddie drifted lazily through his mind, as though taking a tour.

 His blueprints, his laugh, his freckles, the drawings on his door, the way his brown eyes sparkled in curious concentration, or the way he always made a point to include Richie in the experiment, despite the fact that he’d gained a reputation as the loud, boisterous, and stupid kid. In reality, he was quite smart. Especially when it came to math.

 But then other thoughts of Eddie invaded, each less friendly than the last. The sadness in his eyes when he’d seen what Richie’d done. The angry blush that overtook his features right before he’d punched Richie. The way he almost ripped the paper from how rough he’d been writing, and then the way he did tear up Richie’s apology.

 And he began to rethink his plan. Because what if Eddie wouldn’t take him back? What if Eddie didn’t want to see him? Was there even a point to pursuing an essentially moot friendship?

 But then again, more conflicting thoughts revisited. He listened to  _ Cyndi Lauper _ for fuck’s sake! How adorable was that? No, no, no, no, no… adorable was  _ definitely _ not the right word. He wasn’t…  _ gay _ or anything. He liked girls! He liked boobies! It was a stray thought. It didn’t mean anything. He just wanted to be friends.

_  It didn’t mean anything. _

__ Later that afternoon, when he’d gotten his allowance from his father, he sat back up in his room. It was where he’d first opened the box. When he’d first realized that not everybody was as lucky as he was, to have two parents who…  _ tolerated _ him. He thought about all the adorable things Eddie used to do as a kid. Like play superhero.

 He’d never done that with his dad before. In fact, for the majority of his childhood, it was just him and his mom.  _ Before _ she’d taken to drinking. And it wasn’t that his parents were  _ bad.  _ They didn’t beat him like other parents.

 Sometimes he just wished they could be different. That he could have a mother who would stroke his hair and assure him everything would be alright, instead of one who yelled at him for provoking. But that wouldn’t happen. Because he was a problem that needed to be fixed.

 And if he dared start showing any kind of affection towards Eddie, the problem would only get worse.


	4. Eddie Meets a Surprisingly Aggresive Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bev and Eddie have a bit of a standoff except way less dramatic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS TOOK SO LONG AAAAAAAAAA whOOPS a lot a lot a lot of stuff has been going on in my personal life but heyyyy here we are. This ones a little short but not super short. Hey so I know that nobody cares but I wanna plug some of my favorite things right now. Do you like the sims? like cool screenshots of the sims? like funny humor?? check out @bullsim on tumblr shes like a celebrity to me im her biggest fangirl she makes sims stories and i just... i love her. anyways one more thing to plug. do you like until dawn? have you at least watched a play through of it? no? wELL YOU SHOULD. if you like gore, horror, and psychotic killer games, until dawn is the game for you! but also this one fanfic by @anarchist_rose here on ao3 called "Cages" is one of the best horror fics ive ever read please go support her she has another fic in the works and i really want her to continue it.

 Beverly Marsh liked to think that she was the closest thing to muscle her friend group had. As a result, she was protective, no doubt. Not necessarily overprotective, or smothering in any way, she just didn’t like when people tried to harm her friends. No matter how small or disabled they were.

 And so, she went on a mission. To find Eddie Kaspbrak and make sure he didn’t hurt Richie again. His bruise had darkened remarkably fast, and it made Bev worried. After fixing Alan Marsh his breakfast bagel, she hurried to school on her bike. It wasn’t that she was in a particular rush, but she liked to have a smoke before school and she needed critical information on which class the Kaspbrak boy had first.

 Not because she wished him any physical harm-- punching a deaf kid? That was lower than low-- but because she wanted to make sure that if Richie did go through with his crazy plan of trying to win the boy over he wouldn’t get  _ himself _ punched again. Richie had a tendency to stick his nose where it didn’t belong. It wasn’t necessarily his fault, but he did it more often than he’d like to admit.

 And so she waited and waited and waited and waited until finally she saw his mother’s jalopy old car pull up in the parking lot, her keen eyes locked on him as he slowly exited.

 She kept her eyes peeled as he leaned in and kissed his mother goodbye, waving to her and adjusting his fanny pack. Beverly mixed herself in with the crowd for the most part, keeping her eyes on the little brown-haired kid so that she wouldn’t lose him.

 More and more possibilities ran through her head as she walked slowly behind him. How could  _ he  _ possibly have made such an impactful bruise on Richie?

 It didn’t matter. He’d initiated violence and even if Richie had provoked him that didn’t matter. Soon enough, the first bell rang and everyone in the hallways were running off to class. Not Beverly though, and apparently not the new kid either. With only a few scattered students and no teachers in sight, Beverly saw her chance and took it.

 She stormed up behind him rather aggressively and pushed his shoulder around so that he was facing her with his back pressed against the locker. She kept the heel of her palm planted firmly into his shoulder.

 At first, he looked very afraid, but he relaxed a little when he saw that it was just her and not, say, one of the Bowers Gang.

 “So you’re the one who clocked Tozier?” She queried, waiting a few moments for an answer that never came. He just stared at her with wide brown eyes, barely even fighting against her aside from occasional fidgeting.

 “In other circumstances, I might thank you. But you left quite a shiner and that’s not okay.” Still no answer. She sighed heavily, loosening her grip just the slightest bit.

 “Look, I just wanna know what he did to make you so angry. You don’t seem like the type to just throw a punch for no reason.” And to the surprise of no one, he didn’t answer. Then she remembered.

 Eddie Kaspbrak was deaf. He couldn’t hear a single thing she was saying. She released him completely and blew a raspberry through her lips, carding a hand through her fiery red hair.

 “You can’t hear me, can you?” Beverly already knew the answer, but his lack of reply only furthered her suspicions. She dropped her heavy backpack to the floor and began fishing through it for a sheet of loose notebook paper. It seemed that the stupid bag contained everything except the thing she was actually looking for.

 “Can I borrow some paper?” Bev almost smacked herself in the head after that one. He couldn’t hear her, obviously. How would he know what she was requesting? Instead, she decided to point to his notebook and raise her eyebrows questioningly, flipping it open to a random page and raising it in an unspoken question.

 Thankfully, he nodded-- though a bit hesitantly-- and she tore out the page with a surprising accuracy. The pen was easy to find. She pressed the page up against his now-closed locker and began writing.

_ Sorry if I scared you. Just wanna talk. You know Richie? _

 She presented him with the paper a moment later, and after studying it briefly he borrowed her pen to write a reply.

_ I know him and I hate him. Why? _

_ You punched him a few days ago, gave him that huge mark on his eye. _

_ Yeah, he stole from me. I could have called the cops, he’s lucky I didn’t. _

__ Now Bev was really confused. What could that kid possibly have in his house that was worth Richie’s time? And why had he punched him in the face for stealing it?

_ What did he steal? _

_  Something valuable, but that’s none of your business. _

 Bev groaned, already several minutes late for class, and scribbled down one last line before hurrying off to class.

_ He says he’s sorry. _

 At that point, there wasn’t much she could do for Richie’s sake. That was all his own problem. He may have been her best friend, but he sure got into a lot of trouble. Too much trouble for his age, if you asked her.

 But then again, she wasn’t much better. She still smoked and had the occasional drink. She ran with the fun crowd instead of the safe one and even at the young age of thirteen had been in quite a few brawls. But she was the closest thing her friend group-- Richie, Stan, and more recently some kid named Bill-- had to muscle. They’d have died seven times over had Bullseye Beverly not been there with her trusty slingshot to bail them out. Even her throwing arm was a valuable asset during rock wars and other such childish endeavours.

 She’d stolen before too, mostly just a spare pack of cigs to get her kicks, but sometimes she’d throw in some candy or trinkets just for the fun of it. So far, she’d never been caught once.

 It was no surprise that Richie had been, though. He was loud and clumsy and he had the worst guilty conscience. Of all of their friends, he was naturally the most suspicious, judging by nothing more than his mannerisms alone.

 As stressful as the situation was-- or at least had been-- she was glad to have been a part of it because that meant that Richie trusted her enough to talk to her about that kind of thing. It made her happy, to be trusted like that. She always did love her friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i like comments and kudos :))))))) (pls comment a long and in depth comment ill cry happy tears)


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